Stephanie Perkins Quotes

As for us,Etienne was right.Our schools are only a twenty-minute transit ride away.He'll stay with me on the weekends, and we'll visit each other as often as possible during the week. We'll be together.We both got our Point Zero wishes-each other.He said he wished for me every time.He was wishing for me when I entered the tower.
"Mmm," I say.He's kissing my neck.
"That's it," Rashmi says. "I'm outta here.Enjoy your hormones."
Josh and Mer follow her exit,and we're alone.Just the way I like it.
"Ha!" Ettiene says. "Just the way I like it."
He pulls me onto his lap,and I wrap my legs around his waist.His lips are velvet soft,and we kiss until the streetlamps flicker on outside. Until the opera singer begins her evening routine. "I'm going to miss her," I say.
"I'll sing to you." He tucks my stripe behind my ear. "Or I'll take you to the opera.Or I'll fly you back here to visit. Whatever you want.Anything you want."
I lace my fingers through his. "I want to stay right here,in this moment."
"Isn't that the name of the latest James Ashley bestseller? In This Moment?"
"Careful.Someday you'll meet him, and he won't be nearly as amusing in person."
Etienne grins. "Oh,so he'll only be mildly amusing? I suppose I can handle mildly amusing."
"I'm serious! You have to promise me right now,this instant,that you won't leave me once you meet him.Most people would run."
"I'm not most people."
I smile. "I know.But you still have

But I hurt you." His voice grows quiet. "I wish that I hadn't.

I mean I didn't SLEEP sleep with him. Obviously. But I slept with him.

I wish for the thing that is best for me.

This warmth over the telephone. Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place? Bridgette used to be home to me. Maybe St. Clair is my new home.
I mull this over as our voices grow tired and we stop talking. We just keep each other company. My breath. His breath. My breath. His breath.
I could never tell him, but it's true.
This is home. The two of us.

So do you believe in second chances?" I bite my lip.
"Second, third, fourth. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. If the person is right," he adds.
"If the person is ... Lola?"
This time, he holds my gaze. "Only if the other person is Cricket.

But we stayed together, because I don't know why. Maybe because we though we should be in love. At least I did. I wanted to be in love.

Does this ... does this mean you want to be my boyfriend?" My question sounds both immature and momentous. But Josh doesn't flinch.
"Yes," he says. "I want.

I'll be here when you return."
"I fixed my door. You'll need a key."
"I'll take good care of it."
"What if I won't give it to you?"
"Then I'll break the door again."
"This dormitory makes me feel so safe.

His mouth is parted, and the sheets are kicked off. One of his hands rests on his stomach. His shirt has hiked up, and I can see his abdomen. My gaze is transfixed.

Holy crap. I just slept with St. Clair.

Please. The boy gets a boner every time you walk into the room.
My eyes pop back open. Does she mean that figuratively or has she actually seen something? No. Focus, Anna.

The distance between us grows with each passing minute. Will he take my arm again, or will I have to take his?

Why aren't the two of you together?'
The directness of her question throws me. 'I don't know. Sometimes I think there are only so many opportunities ... to get together with someone. And we've both screwed up so many times - that we've missed our chance.

If I had a euro for every stupid thing I've done, I could buy the Mona Lisa.

Madame Guillotine gets mad at me. Not because I told them to shove it, but because I didn't say it in French. What is wrong with this school?

You know more useless crap, St. Clair. Good thing you're so darn cute, Josh says.

Parents are excellent at stating the obvious.

So,Batman,eh?"
Effing St. Clair.
I cross my arms and slouch into one of the plastic seats. I am so not in the mood for this.He takes the chair next to me and drapes a relaxed arm over the back of the empty seat on his other side. The man across from us is engrossed in his laptop,and I pretend to be engrossed in his laptop,too. Well,the back of it.
St. Clair hums under his breath. When I don't respond,he sings quietly. "Jingle bells,Batman smells,Robin flew away..."
"Yes,great,I get it.Ha ha. Stupid me."
"What? It's just a Christmas song." He grins and continues a bit louder. "Batmobile lost a wheel,on the M1 motorway,hey!"
"Wait." I frown. "What?"
"What what?"
"You're singing it wrong."
"No,I'm not." He pauses. "How do you sing it?"
I pat my coat,double-checking for my passport. Phew. Still there. "It's 'Jingle bells, Batman smells,Robin laid an egg'-"
St. Clair snorts. "Laid an egg? Robin didn't lay an egg-"
"'Batmobile lost a wheel,and the Joker got away.'"
He stares at me for a moment,and then says with perfect conviction. "No."
"Yes.I mean,seriously,what's up with the motorway thing?"
"M1 motorway. Connects London to Leeds."
I smirk. "Batman is American. He doesn't take the M1 motorway."
"When he's on holiday he does."
"Who says Batman has time to vacation?"
"Why are we arguing about Batman?" He leans forward. "You're derailing us from the real topic.The fact that you, Anna Olip

Effing St. Clair.
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See you at breakfast?"
"Yeah.See ya." I try to say this casually,but I'm so thrilled that I skip from her room and promptly slam into a wall.
Whoops.Not a wall.A boy.
"Oof." He staggers backward.
"Sorry! I'm so sorry,I didn't know you were there."
He shakes his head,a little dazed. The first thing I notice is his hair-it's the first thing I notice about everyone. It's dark brown and messy and somehow both long and short at the same time. I think of the Beatles,since I've just seen them in Meredith's room. It's artist hair.Musician hair. I-pretend-I-don't-care-but-I-really-do-hair.
Beautiful hair.
"It's okay,I didn't see you either. Are you all right,then?"
Oh my.He's English.
"Er.Does Mer live here?"
Seriously,I don't know any American girl who can resist an English accent.
The boy clears his throat. "Meredith Chevalier? Tall girl? Big,curly hair?" Then he looks at me like I'm crazy or half deaf,like my Nanna Oliphant. Nanna just smiles and shakes her head whenever I ask, "What kind of salad dressing would you like?" or "Where did you put Granddad's false teeth?"
"I'm sorry." He takes the smallest step away from me. "You were going to bed."
"Yes! Meredith lives there.I've just spent two hours with her." I announce this proudly like my brother, Seany, whenever he finds something disgusting in the yard. "I'm Anna! I'm new here!" Oh God. What.Is with.The scary enthusiasm? My cheeks catch fire, and it's all so humil

"Yeah.See" title="Stephanie Perkins Quotes: See you at breakfast?"
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«"We're talking about the technical aspects of translation again. Do I have to do all the work here? Who can tell me one of the problems translators face?" Rashmi raises her hand. "Well, most words have different meanings." "Good," Professeur Cole says. "More. Elaborate." St. Clair sits next to Rashmi, but he's not listening. He scribbles something fiercely in the margins of his book. "Well," Rashmi says. "It's the translator's job to determine which definition the author means. And not only that, but there could be other meanings in relation to the context."55 "So what you're saying," Professeur Cole says, "is that the translator has a lot of decisions to make. That there are multiple meanings to be found in any word, in any sentence. In any situation." "Exactly," Rashmi says. And then she cuts her eyes at me.»

Andy once clipped a magazine article about how black dogs are always the last to be adopted at shelters and, therefore, more likely to be put down. Which is totally Dog Racism, if you ask me.

That was the strangest timing. The strangest. It's like fate, if I believed in fate. I don't know. Maybe I believe in fate now.

I don't believe in fashion. I believe in costume. Life is too short to be same person every day.

He pats his way around the bed and slides back in. 'Ow,' he says.
'Yes?'
'My belt. Would it be weird ... '
I'm thankful he can't see me blush. 'Of course not.' And I listen to the slap of leather as he pulls it out of his belt loops. He lays it gently on my hardwood floor.
'Um,' he says. 'Would it be weird - '
'YES.'
'Oh, piss off. I'm not talking trousers. I only want under the blankets.That breeze is horrible.' He slides underneath, and now we're lying side by side. In my narrow bed. Funny, but I never imagined my first sleepover with a guy being, well, a sleepover.
'All we need now are 'Sixteen Candles' and a game of Truth or Dare.'
He coughs. 'Wh-what?'
'The movie, pervert. I was just thinking it's been a while since I've had a sleepover.'
A pause. 'Oh.

Because, of course, of how intelligent you are. And funny. Not that you aren't attractive. Because you are. Attractive. Oh, bugger ... "
I wait.
"Are you still there, or did you hang up because I'm such a bleeding idiot?"
"I'm here."
"God, you made me work for that.

What my parents never considered is that I just wanted a choice.

Do adults realize how lucky they are? Or do they forget that these small moments are actually small miracles? I don't want to ever forget.

You've been dating him for less than a month.

He looks up.
Our eyes lock,and he breaks into a slow smile. My heart beats faster and faster. Almost there.He sets down his book and stands.And then this-the moment he calls my name-is the real moment everything changes.
He is no longer St. Clair, everyone's pal, everyone's friend.
He is Etienne. Etienne,like the night we met. He is Etienne,he is my friend.
He is so much more.
Etienne.My feet trip in three syllables. E-ti-enne. E-ti-enne, E-ti-enne. His name coats my tongue like melting chocolate. He is so beautiful, so perfect.
My throat catches as he opens his arms and wraps me in a hug.My heart pounds furiously,and I'm embarrassed,because I know he feels it. We break apart, and I stagger backward. He catches me before I fall down the stairs.
"Whoa," he says. But I don't think he means me falling.
I blush and blame it on clumsiness. "Yeesh,that could've been bad."
Phew.A steady voice.
He looks dazed. "Are you all right?"
I realize his hands are still on my shoulders,and my entire body stiffens underneath his touch. "Yeah.Great. Super!"
"Hey,Anna. How was your break?"
John.I forget he was here.Etienne lets go of me carefully as I acknowledge Josh,but the whole time we're chatting, I wish he'd return to drawing and leave us alone. After a minute, he glances behind me-to where Etienne is standing-and gets a funny expression on hs face. His speech trails off,and he buries his nose in his sketchbook. I look back, b

You know, I've heard you actually have to have sex to get pregnant.

Imagine," she said, after registering, "a whole city of gorgeous Italian guys. They can say anything to me, and it'll be sexy."
"You'll be so easy," Rashmi said. "Would you like-ah to order-ah the spa-ghe-tti? 'Oh, do me, Marco!

How did my parents live before texting? Before the internet? I'm used to knowing things and all of this unknowing is driving me mad.

No, I don't love Max anymore. But I don't want to give you this broken, empty me. I want you to have me when I'm full, when I can give something back to you. I don't have much to give right now.

The realization is surprising, but the one that follows stuns me even more.
I'm not in love with him anymore.
Instead, looking at him makes me feel ... hollow.

It's a relief to know it won't happen. It makes things easier.

It's impossible, the not-knowing, but it's better than getting the wrong answer.

Closed. Plenty of time to see it later, remember? He leads me into the courtyard, and I take the opportunity to admire his backside. Callipygian. There is something better than Notre-Dame.

Is that...the Looney Tunes theme?"
Mer and St. Clair cock their ears.
"Why,yes.I believe it is," St. Clair says.
"I heard 'Love Shack' a few minutes ago," Mer says.
"It's official," I say. "America has finally ruined France."
"So can we go now?" St. Clair holds up a small bag. "I'm done."
"Ooo,what'd you get?" Mer asks. She takes his bag and pulls out a delicate, shimmery scarf. "Is it for Ellie?"
"Shite."
Mer pauses. "You didn't get anything for Ellie?"
"No,it's for Mum.Arrrgh." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Would you mind if we pop over to Sennelier before we go home?" Sennelier is a gorgeous little art supply sore,the kind that makes me wish I had an excuse to buy oil paints and pastels. Mer and I went with Rashmi last weekend. She bought Josh a new sketchbook for Hanukkah.
"Wow.Congratulations,St. Clair," I say. "Winner of today's Sucky Boyfriend award.And I thought Steve was bad-did you see what happened in calc?"
"You mean when Amanda caught him dirty-texting Nicole?" Mer asks. "I thought she was gonna stab him in the neck with her pencil."
"I've been busy," St. Clair says.
I glance at him. "I was just teasing."
"Well,you don't have to be such a bloody git about it."
"I wasn't being a git. I wasnt even being a twat, or a wanker, or any of your other bleeding Briticisms-"
"Piss off." He snatches his bag back from Mer and scowls at me.
"HEY!" Mer says. "It's Christmas. Ho-ho-ho. Deck

People always laugh, because they don't expect words like shit to come one of someone so petite, someone with a voice so quiet, so sweet.

My parents aren't hippies. I'm North as in the North Pole. Unfortunately. My brother is Nicholas, and my sister is Noelle.
Wow. God. That's
About a hundred times worse than your name.
I was going to say devoted. Festively devoted.

It's not stupid to want to put on a pretty dress and feel beautiful for a night.

You said on my birthday that you were afraid of being alone, but I've been here this whole time. This whole time.

Thank you for helping my sister," he says.
I lean forward, mimicking his position. "I'm happy to."
Calliope leans out her window. "STOP FLIRTING AND GET BACK TO WORK.

Oof," he says.
"Hey, there's a bed there."
"Thanks for the warning."
"No problem.

"Hey, there's a" title="Stephanie Perkins Quotes: Oof," he says.
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And for the first time since coming home, i'm completely happy. It's strange. Home ... to be here, in my technical house, and discover now someplace different ... Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place? ... For the two of us, home isn't a place. It's a person. And we're finally home.

I just want you to know that we didn't do anything but talk and sleep - sleep sleep," he quickly adds. "Like with eyes closed and hands to oneself and dreaming. Innocent dreams. I would never do anything behind your back. I mean, never anything dishonorable. I mean-

My boyfriend loses his virginity, and, oh, who's that looking on?
It's a rabbit.

Did I ever tell you I went to school in America?"
"What? No."
"It's true,for a year. Eighth grade. It was terrible."
"Eighth grade is terrible for everyone," I say.
"Well,it was worse for me. My parents had just seperated,and my mum moved back to California.I hadn't been since I was an infant,but I went with her,and I was put in this horrid public school-"
"Oh,no. Public school."
He nudges me with his shoulder. "The other kids were ruthless. They made fun of everything about me-my height,my accent, the way I dressed.I vowed I'd never go back."
"But American girls love English accents." I blurt this without thinking, and then pray he doesn't notice my blush.
St. Clair picks up a pebble and tosses it into the river. "Not in middle school, they don't.Especially when it's attached to a bloke who comes up to their kneecaps."
I laugh.
"So when the year was over,my parents found a new school for me. I wanted to go back to London,where my mates were, but my father insisted on Paris so he could keep an eye on me. And that's how I would up at the School of America.

Because I was right. For the two of us, home isn't a place. It's a person

Let's vow to never become monsters that we are trying to protect ourselves from.

I'm sorry," he says.
"What? Why?"
"You're fixing everything I set down." He nods at my hands, which are readjusting the elephant. "It wasn't polite of me to come in and start touching your things."
"Oh, it's okay," I say quickly, letting go of the figurine. "You can touch anything of mine you want."
He freezes. A funny look runs across his face before I realize what I've said. I didn't mean it like that.
Not that that would be so bad.

"What? Why?"
"You're" title="Stephanie Perkins Quotes: I'm sorry," he says.
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That guys. Sideburns. You like him?"
My back squirms. "You've asked me that before."
"What I meant was," he says, flustered. "Your feelings haven't changed? Since you've been here?"
It takes a moment to consider the question. "It's not a matter of how I feel," I say at last. "I'm interested, but ... I don't know if he's still interested in me."
St. Clair edges closer. "Does he still call?"
"Yeah. I mean, not often. But yes."
"Right. Right, well," he says, blinking. "There's your answer.

Life is too short to be the same person everyday.

To: Anna Oliphant
From: Etienne St. Clair
Subject: Uncommon Prostitues

I have nothing to say about prostitues (other than you'd make a terrible prostitute,the profession is much too unclean), I only wanted to type that. Isn't it odd we both have to spend Christmas with our fathers? Speaking of unpleasant matters,have you spoken with Bridge yet? I'm taking the bus to the hospital now.I expect a full breakdown of your Christmas dinner when I return. So far today,I've had a bowl of muesli. How does Mum eat that rubbish? I feel as if I've been gnawing on lumber.

To: Etienne St. Clair
From: Anna Oliphant
Subject: Christmas Dinner


MUESLY? It's Christmas,and you're eating CEREAL?? I'm mentally sending you a plate from my house. The turkey is in the oven,the gravy's on the stovetop,and the mashed potatoes and casseroles are being prepared as I type this. Wait. I bet you eat bread pudding and mince pies or something,don't you? Well, I'm mentally sending you bread pudding. Whatever that is. No, I haven't talked to Bridgette.Mom keeps bugging me to answer her calls,but winter break sucks enough already. (WHY is my dad here? SERIOUSLY. MAKE HIM LEAVE. He's wearing this giant white cable-knit sweater,and he looks like a pompous snowman,and he keeps rearranging the stuff on our kitchen cabinets. Mom is about to kill him. WHICH IS WHY SHE SHOULDN'T INVITE HIM OVER FOR HOLIDAYS). Anyway.I'd rather not add to the drama.

The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.

Dad steps away from the window, and I'm alarmed to discover his eyes are wet. Something about the idea of my father-even if it is my father-on the brink of tears raises a lump in my throat.
"Well,kiddo.Guess you're all grown up now."
My body is frozen. He pulls my stiff limbs into a bear hug.His grip is frightening. "Take care of yourself. Study hard and make some friends. And watch out for pickpockets," he adds. "Sometimes they work in pairs.

´´You know what's the strangest thing about tonight? Tonight, being an astoundingly strange night?´´

´´What's that?´´

´´That you still don't realize I'm willing to do anything, anything-he gestured in a full circle around them- ´´to stay in your company...´´

I catch a glimpse of his abdomen. Yummy. "Yummy tummy."
He startles. "What?"
"Hmm?

The pressure is on. They've teased me all week, because I've avoided anything that requires ordering. I've made excuses (I'm allergic to beef," "Nothing tastes better than bread," Ravioli is overrated"), but I can't avoid it forever.Monsieur Boutin is working the counter again. I grab a tray and take a deep breath.
"Bonjour, uh...soup? Sopa? S'il vous plait?"
"Hello" and "please." I've learned the polite words first, in hopes that the French will forgive me for butchering the remainder of their beautiful language. I point to the vat of orangey-red soup. Butternut squash, I think. The smell is extraordinary, like sage and autumn. It's early September, and the weather is still warm. When does fall come to Paris?
"Ah! soupe.I mean,oui. Oui!" My cheeks burn. "And,um, the uh-chicken-salad-green-bean thingy?"
Monsieur Boutin laughs. It's a jolly, bowl-full-of-jelly, Santa Claus laugh. "Chicken and haricots verts, oui. You know,you may speek Ingleesh to me. I understand eet vairy well."
My blush deepends. Of course he'd speak English in an American school. And I've been living on stupid pears and baquettes for five days. He hands me a bowl of soup and a small plate of chicken salad, and my stomach rumbles at the sight of hot food.
"Merci," I say.
"De rien.You're welcome. And I 'ope you don't skeep meals to avoid me anymore!" He places his hand on his chest, as if brokenhearted. I smile and shake my head no. I can do this. I can do this. I can-

He sat on one side of a love seat, leaving space to sit beside him. Was it an invitation? Or a gesture of kindness, in that he was offering me the room's larger couch? WHY WAS THIS SO HARD?

You only have one chance to make a first impression.

What are you doing?" He flops down next to me. "Checking your email?
St. Clair snorts. "Give the lad a medal for his brilliant skills in detection.

It's midnight, it's sweltering, and I might be high on Vicodin, but that guy - that guy right over there - that's him.
The him.

I don't want to feel this way around him. I want things to be normal. I want to be his friend, not another stupid girl holding out for something that will never happen.

And then the darkness gives way to white neon. An Art Deco font, burning into the night, announces our arrival at the CINEMA LE CHAMPO. The letters dwarf me. Cinema. Has there ever been a more beautiful word? My heart soars as we pass the colorful film posters and walk through the gleaming glass doors. The lobby is smaller than what I'm used to, and though it's missing the tang of artificially buttered popcorn, there's something in the air I recognize, something both musty and comforting.

Finally, I laugh. Genuine and normal sounding. And then my date says the best thing that he could
possibly say: "It's okay. I haven't been on one of these [dates] in a while either."
My smile triples in size.
Josh grins. "Just give me your hand."
"W–what?"
"Your hand," he repeats. "Give it to me."
I extend my shaking right hand. And – in a moment that is a hundred dreams come true – Joshua
Wasserstein laces his fingers through mine. A staggering shock of energy shoots straight into my
veins. Straight into my heart.
"There," he says. "I've been waiting a long time to do that.

Autumn is coming. For as long as I can remember, I've talked to the moon. Asked her for her guidance. There's something deeply spiritual about her waxing and waning. She wears a new dress every evening, yet she's always herself.
And she's always there.

Some people are finicky about going to the theater alone, but I'm not. Because when the lights go down, the only relationship left in the room is the one between the movie and me.

When it's right, it's simple.

What are we doing?" Mags asked. "I don't know. ... " he said eventually. "I know things have to change, but ... I can't lose you. I don't think I get another one like you.

I risk a glance, and St. Clair stares back. Deeply. He has not looked at me like this before. I turn away first, then feel him turn a few beats later.
I know he is smiling, and my heart races.

When two people are in love, it's supposed to work. It has to work. No matter how difficult the circumstances are.

Okay, I've lied to him. But you saw how jealous he gets. It makes me feel like I have to. And I shouldn't defend my right to be friends with another guy.

He takes my hands into his.Those perfect hands, that fit mine just so.

You're so bad at good-byes, he whispers in my ear. Which is true. There is an average of about forty-seven minutes between the time we first type "goodnight" and the moment we actually stop sending our words back and forth.

I need you to be my person,

Hello?" No reply. My shoulders sag. "What's the point of a staircase if no one is here to watch my entrance?

Put this on your list of things to know: the combination of tinsel, baby angel wings, and manger hay burns like weed at a Miley Cyrus concert.

I mean, really. Who sends their kid to boarding school? It's so Hogwarts. Only mine doesn't have cute boy wizards or magic candy or flying lessons.

It's become impossible to deny he means something to me.

SPACES ... BREAKS ... TO CONTEMPLATE THINGS ... TO FIGURE OUT WHAT'S IMPORTANT ...

How…how did you know that I'm not there?"
But I've already anticipated his answer.
"Because I'm here.

Anna: What are you doing here?

Etienne: I came for you.

Anna: And how on EARTH did you know I was up here?

Etienne: I saw you. I came to make another wish, and I was standing on Point Zéro when I saw you enter the tower. I called your name, and you looked around, but you didn't see me.

Anna: So you decided to just … come up?

Etienne: I had to. I couldn't wait for you to come down, I couldn't wait any longer. I had to see you now. I have to know … Why did you lie to me?

Anna: I'm sorry, I don't know what …

Etienne: November. At the creperie. I asked you if we'd talked about anything strange that night I was drunk in your room. If I had said anything about our relationship, or my relationship with Ellie. And you said no.

Anna: How did you know?

Etienne: Josh told me.

Anna: When?

Etienne: November.

Anna: I…I…If you'd seen the look on your face that day. In the restaurant. How could I possibly tell you? With your mother…

Etienne: But if you had, I wouldn't have wasted all of these months. I thought you were turning me down. I thought you weren't interested.

Anna: But you were drunk! You had a girlfriend! What was I supposed to do? God, St. Clair. I didn't even know if you meant it.

Etienne: Of course I meant it. I meant it, Anna. I meant it.

Anna: I don't under…

Etienne: I'm saying I'm in love wi

Cricket Bell." I smiled into my phone. "How did you get so wise?

I love it when he cocks an eyebrow whenever I say something he finds clever or amusing.
I love listening to his boots clomp across my bedroom ceiling.
I love that the accent over his first name is called an acute accent, and that he has a cute accent.

I want to feel the creases in his skin, connect his freckles with invisible lines, brush my fingers across the inside of his wrists.

Perfect is overrated. Perfect is boring."
I smile. "You don't think I'm perfect?"
"No. You're delightfully screwy, and I wouldn't have you any other way.

He turns back to me. "So did you enjoy the book?'
"I did." Discomfort lingers between us. "Did you?"
St. Clair considers it for a moment. "I like the author's name the best," he finally says, "Ba-nah-na.

Sometimes a mistake isn't a what. It's a who.

I'm just saying that if it were Anna, I'd want to meet her coworkers. See where she's spending her time."
I stare at him, hard. "Obviously.

Would you rather be great at something you like, or just okay at something you love?

And then we're laughing. And then I'm in his arms, and we're kissing, st first quickly - to make up for lost time -- and then slowly, because we have all the time in the world. And his lips are soft and honey sweet, and the careful, passionate way he moves them against my own says that he savors the way I taste, too.
And in between kisses, I tell him I love him.
Again and again and again.

I've always thought the best relationships are those that are as happy and content in silence as they are in action [ ... ]

When it's right, it's simple," he says to my unasked question. "Unlike your hair.

He glances down and notices that I'm still wearing a certain blue something, and, this time, it's HIS index finger that wraps underneath MY rubber band.
I shiver wonderfully. "I'm never taking it off."
Cricket brushes the delicate skin of my wrist. "It'll fall off."
"I'll ask you for another one."
"I'll give you another one." He smiles and touches his nose to mine.

I am trying really hard not to use the word 'fabulous' right now.

What's that?"
"My friend St. Clair bought it for me. So I wouldn't feel out of place."
She raises her eyebrows as she pulls back onto the road. "Are there a lot of Canadians in Paris?"
My face warms. "I just felt,you know, stupid for a while. Like one of those lame American tourists with the white sneakers and the cameras around their necks? So he bought it for me, so I wouldn't feel....embarrassed. American."
"Being American is nothing to be ashamed of," she snaps.
"God,Mom,I know.I just meant-forget it."
"Is this the English boy with the French father?"
"What does that have anything to do with it?" I'm angry. I don't like what she's implying. "Besides,he's American. He was born here? His mom lives in San Francisco. We sat next to each other on the plane."
We stop at a red light.Mom stares at me. "You like him."
"OH GOD,MOM."
"You do.You like this boy."
"He's just a friend.He has a girlfriend."
"Anna has a boooy-friend," Seany chants.
"I do not!"
"ANNA HAS A BOOOY-FRIEND!"
I take a sip of coffee and choke. It's disgusting. It's sludge. No, it's worse than sludge-at least sludge is organic. Seany is still taunting me. Mom reaches around and grabs his legs,which are kicking her seat again.She sees me making a face at my drink.
"My,my. Once semester in France, and suddenly we're Miss Sophisticated. Your father will be thrilled."
Like it was my choice! Like I asked to go to Paris! And how dare s

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If you were my girl," he says, but there's an explosion outside in the courtyard, and I miss the punchline. Fireworks crackle in showers of pink, green, blue, white, green, pink, orange. The museum-goers on the escalators heading upwards erupt in a frenzy of applause as we continue heading down. "If you were my girl," Josh says, pressing his nose against my ear. I turn my head, and the lights and the noise and the people disappear. The distance between us disappears.
Our kiss was anything but shy.

Anna, Anna," Josh interrupts. "If I had a euro for every stupid thing I've done, I could buy the Mona Lisa. You'll be fine.

So he started writing these novels set in Small Town Georgia about folks with Good American Values who Fall in Love and then contract Life-Threatening Diseases and Die. I'm